Today I saw a
tree shaped like a square. It was strangely disconcerting. Trees are not
supposed to be square. It had an edge, for Pete's sake! After the
square tree, I started to notice all the other shrubbery. Most of it was
just nicely trimmed into a short-normal-bush-shape. But some of them had
flat tops. That bothered me as well.
People just have this perverse need to change and "upgrade"
things which were perfectly fine to being with. This need is not limited
to shrubbery. People do this all the time. Women wear makeup.
People buy beautiful, expensive cars just because they're newer and more
beautiful. We buy new clothes to keep up with "the times."
Beauty is subjective. If we learned to appreciate the beauty of a woman's
pure and un-caked face, they wouldn't desire to paint themselves. If we
learned to adore the shape of a naturally grown bush, we wouldn't have to
spend our Saturdays carefully shaping and pruning.
It's all about being content with what you have. Because God forbid we try
to improve on perfectly good shrubbery. In my opinion, shrubs should be
trimmed only when they start being an inconvenience -- like if they're
blocking the doorway.
The moral of the story is: Trees should not be square. It's blamed immoral
and slightly creepy. And it's fun to say "shrubbery."
"Frinkle!"
I said.* As I was going pee, I realized how natural it is for me to use
the bathroom. It's just one of those things I do without thinking about
it. When you hang around little kids, you realize there are a lot of
things you can do that are a real struggle for them.
Using the bathroom. Wiping yourself. Washing your hands. Using a fork.
Walking. Tying your shoes. Saying "L's" and otherwise difficult
words with a lot of syllables.
When we were little and we finally learned how to tie our shoes or ride
our bikes or read a book, there was much celebration because it was a big
accomplishment. I mean, crikes, when you go potty for the first time,
everyone is bloody clapping for you! And why are these things no
longer considered big accomplishments? Just because everyone can do them
doesn't mean they're not important skills to have mastered. I say, every
time you feel like you can't accomplish anything, remember all the things
you can accomplish. Go ahead. Make a list. Yeah, OK, you're sure no
astrophysicist, but who's to say that astrophysics is more important than
the ability to blow a spit bubble?
You've come a long way since you were 1 year old. Never forget that.
*"Frinkle" means "I have to pee" - Katie Bosserman
When I make
banana splits, I feel like an artist. I scatter, I arrange, I carefully
cut, sprinkle, and dash. The end result is a masterpiece too good to be
eaten. I eat it anyway.
Food is a lot about how you perceive it. Banana splits are just one
example.
Mary Graham was an artist of a cook. Her food was heavenly, yes, but it
wasn't just thrown in a serving dish or tossed on a platter. Her meals
were on display.
On "The Iron Chef", Morimoto spends around half of his time
cooking and the other half he spends just arranging. The challenger
spends every minute preparing the food and then throws it on a plate. No
one wants their food just thrown on a plate! It's about presentation, my
friends, pre-sen-tation. Presentation asserts confidence. You
boldly proclaim: My food tastes good enough to look like it
shouldn't be eaten!
There's a reason the Iron Chef always wins.
A whole lot rides on perceptions. A whole lot rides on first glances. On
aesthetics. On the exterior. I'm not saying it's a good thing, but I am
saying that's how it is. You can play up to it, or you can be screwed.
Those are basically your options.
I'm learning to deal with society without feeling like I'm compromising
myself. There was a time when I put up a huge fuss over wearing suits to
debate tournaments. I didn't like suits and I thought the rule was
ridiculous. I still think the rule is ridiculous, but just like I am no
less a good debater when I'm wearing my clothes, I'm no less a Kirsten
when I'm wearing the bloody suit.
It's about passivity. Society says, "Jump!" and for lack of not
wanting to make a fuss, you just do. You learn and use discretion. You
freaking wear the stockings and closed-toed-shoes. You present your food
with garnishes.
Because like it or not, most of the time, the prettiest plate wins.
I have hereby
emphatically decided and do declare: There ought to be a day without
consequences.
Sometimes I get the hankering to be bad. Not just kind of bad in the way
that you borrow a dollar and forget to pay it back (by the way, Andrea, I
still remember that I did that and I am planning to pay you
back in the semi-immediate future). But bad in the kind of way that you
would make even Dr. Evil cringe in horrendous horror at your badosity.
On this Day Without Consequences, you could eat as much junk food as your
evil heart desired. Cheesecakes and chocolate cakes and funnel cakes and
juicy steaks and ice cream and everything. We could even
re-institute vomitoriums so that we could eat and then throw up and then
come back for more.
On this Day Without Consequences, you could drink alcohol. Smoke pot.
Shoot cocaine. Have sex. Murder. Steal. Rape. Even talk back to your mom.
You can do whatever your heart desires.
Because at the end of the day, everything you did just poof!
disappears. The next morning everyone you killed is alive. The next
morning every pound you gained is dropped. The next morning you remember
none of the hurt you experienced or caused during the Day Without
Consequences.
But then you have to wonder: If everything, everything, was
completely forgotten... couldn't we already have Days Without
Consequences? Maybe time constantly rewrites itself. Like in Quantum
Leap... jumping through time to right what once went wrong. To me, that's
a fun thought. It would also explain the days that you wake up just a
little out of it. Maybe you're suffering from a hangover that didn't quite
get erased.
Life makes more sense when you write the rules yourself. :)
Good evening
ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the ninety-eighth edition of Rants by
Kirsten! Sit back, sit tight, and enjoy the show. This episode brought to
you by OCD, boredom, and the need to pee.
I like Oreos. I do. I like them in a box and with a fox and in a house and
with a mouse. They're just tasty.
Today I desired Oreos. The vending machine sold double-stuffed. I thought,
hey, good deal. The cream is the best part. Double the cream, double
the best. Or something along those lines.
But then...I hit E8...and down the Oreos fall. I notice the package is a
little smaller than it ought to be. It only provided 3 Oreos! Those little
personal packages are supposed to provide six, but noOOoo.
Because of the "double-stuffed," the gods that be decided to gyp
me of my rightfully deserved and paid for cookies!
And then. And then. I opened the package and untwisted the Oreo and
were they double stuffed? Hardly! I mean, sure, there was more cream than usual,
but double? I don't think so.
What is it with corporations and giving the consumer less than they
deserve? I think it's a travesty against mankind. Like how Southwest only
gave me 19 peanuts last time I flew. 19! You're supposed to get 20!
I say, if I ever owned a food corporation, I think I'd make it a practice
to give the consumer more than they were expecting. Except then they would
grow to expect more and then I'd have to keep increasing the product
amount that I doled out. Hm. That probably wouldn't be good for profits.
Expectations are so fickle. The world is so skeptical. Once again, I
conclude: Blegh.
We sat in the
car and waited for Joel and Chris and I breathed hot air onto the glass
and drew intricate random designs into the cloudiness. Vague and
incomprehensible. And though no one would've understood anyway, I would
breathe onto the glass and cover each design with a new foggy cloud. They
were still slightly visible and that revealed nature of my random soul
spoke to me. Everything speaks to me. I am altogether too introverted and
too pensive.
The sunset
amazed me tonight. It was black fade to purple fade to pink fade to
brilliance. I tried to take a picture of it. My efforts were for naught.
The soft neon glow of the ocean slipping into the soft fading blue of the
sky refused to be reduced to a mere 2D image. It only wanted to be.
Tonight we walked out to Pebble Beach and we all went off into our own
little worlds and fancies and I thought: This moment is a moment
that we cannot capture on a camera. There are no words, or thoughts, or
feelings or anything that could ever convey this moment and this reality
and this loveliness. And so for that time, like the sunset, I just lived.
I stood up in the dimness of the pier and listened to that sound and lived
that moment like I cannot even remember now.
It is better that the Lord gives us things for just a sweet memory.. a
reflection but as in a dull mirror. A reflection of his beauty and of his
amazing perfection and... wow.
The Lord has it going on, my friends. He makes moments like that.
I had an über-cool
dream last night where there was this classic battle of good and evil and
I wanted to fight on the good side, of course, who was lead by some
attractive male and besides, we got cooler bracelets. So. Yay.
Dreams are always so odd in retrospect. The dream still makes total sense
to me. But to relate it to anyone? Nope, can't be done.
That's kind of interesting, you know.. in retrospect, dreams become so
odd... whereas, reality becomes so clear. That says something to me. What
it says I'm not sure... but it does speak something to my soul.
Sometimes I wish for retrospective vision. Everything makes sense in
retrospect, but it's not time for retrospect yet. I have to be careful to
rest securely in the unknown, because I never want to live my life just
waiting for the next day to come.
I have a new
theory about airports. I'm sitting here outside Gate 10, which is open and
supposedly that ugly little airport corridor leads to the plane stationed
in Oakland, Ca, cause that's where I landed. But it is oh, so cold
outside the open door. Far too cold for any California city. This is how I
successfully deduced that that door does not actually lead to Oakland.
Instead, stepping off that platform teleports you directly to your flight
destination. Portland is right there and the whole plane flight is
a cleverly manipulated subterfuge. This makes sense in light of the fact
that all topography all looks alike, roughly. It's not that American
landscape is so boring, they're just flashing the same background. They
have to do this because if we knew how simple it really was to travel, the
airplane industry would not be able to charge such exorbitant prices and
the entire industry would utterly collapse. Just another
airline/government conspiracy.
Just like the new security measures. This morning the meticulous airplane
official people carefully swabbed the handles of everyone's suitcases. I
turned to the guy behind me and asked, "What ARE they doing?"
He said something about how they were checking for explosive material. I
commented that they were probably just disinfecting the handles. He
pointed out the neat little computer they insert the swabs in and said it
registered the explosives. I said it probably just identified the type of
fungus growing on our luggage. It seems plausible. They haven't acquired
the bombs, true, but at least the baggage loaders won't catch a cold from
the icky handle of that girl who just sneezed on her suitcase.
"Where are
you headed?" Mom asked.
I turned slowly, thoughts flooding through my brain, "There are
times", I said, "When One needs to be alone with One's
sandwich."
It is because of this truth that I have instated the following
declaration:
Once daily, I will head up to my room with a sandwich, and I will stay
there for a set period of time. During this time I will not be bothered. I
will sit in my room with my sandwich, and I will read or sleep or do
whatever else I feel like doing while I eat my sandwich.
If you attempt to talk to me during my sandwich time I will ignore and
shun you. - Katie McGregor
I'm eating a strawberry spread and peanut butter sandwich.
What's the difference between jam, jelly, preserves, and spread? Jason and
I couldn't figure it out. We bought strawberry spread, because it was
cheap and had a pretty container.
It's kind of odd that someone would think to mix strawberry with peanut
butter. It's a strange combination.
But I guess it's the "nutty/fruity" taste, which isn't that odd.
You have a lot of different defined "tastes." Like
"nutty" and "fruity" and "fishy". Why don't
they have a "chickeny" taste? Fish get their own taste. It seems
unfair.
It's more fun to eat a sandwich when it's cut into shapes.
My sandwich is in small triangles systematically arranged on my plate like
a butterfly.
Trust me. It's fun.
I like strawberry jelly better than grape jelly now. After I eat a lot of
peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches, I get tired of the grape and
switch to strawberry. Then I really like strawberry for awhile until I get
tired of it and switch back to grape. I once thought about getting peach
jelly, but no, it just works out well this way.
It seems strange to think of a time before sliced bread.
I'm glad I live now.
It's amazing how absorbed I can be in a sandwich.